


What the Actual Fuck!

by Eilinelithil



Category: Cobra (TV 2019), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adding to this list when necessary, Angst, Betrayal, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, UST, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Prime Minister Robert Sutherland is feeling pressured, and isn't prepared to acquiesce to the repeated challenges from within his cabinet nor the wider circle of those around him.  He resorts to drastic measures to ascertain who can be trusted, turning to an 'old friend' to help him separate the wheat from the chaff. Said friend promises to send in his best operative to assist the PM, the trouble is the operative finds out more than Robert necessarily wants to know, and all this just as all hell is breaking loose around him; people hurt, Britain in chaos and multiple deaths push him into making some hard hitting decisions in order to safeguard himself, the country, and the people he cares about.
Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Robert Sutherland (Cobra)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 16





	1. How Deep? How High?

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I am a UK ex-pat, still a British Citizen, still eligible and registered to vote, which I do by proxy (thanks Mum). I have not, nor ever WILL vote Conservative, and for the record, did not vote yes for Brexit, (personally think it's a fucking STUPID idea and you won't convince me otherwise). So... that said, hate me all you want.
> 
> Also, that said, none of the above has any bearing on the contents of this fic any more than it did for the writers of Cobra. Okay?

It wasn’t unusual to find Prime Minister Robert Sutherland burning the midnight oil. There would be times when he’d be woken in the wee hours of the morning, either by his wife, or his chief of staff - more often lately by Anna than by Rachel, which hadn’t slipped his notice - and told in no uncertain terms to get himself up to bed.

He slipped off his glasses for a moment and rubbed tired eyes with aching fingers. He felt like he’d been writing for hours, and the flickering light from his computer monitor,  _ how had he not fucking noticed that the thing flickered before now…? _ was giving him a headache, but he  _ had  _ to get through the pile of papers on his desk. At least familiarize himself with their contents, if not scribbles notes indicating what his answers should be to various of them for his secretary to type and send on his behalf in the morning; all except the most important of them that he had to send himself. It all had to be done though, before his scheduled meeting with Her Majesty, so that he could keep Her apprised of the current state of Her government, and the worrying hints and warnings coming from some members of his cabinet.

With a sigh, he slipped his glasses back into place, picked up his pen, and selected one of the remaining pieces of paper from the stack on his desk. Not the top one though, not that he was avoiding it, just that it had been  _ staring _ at him for all the hours that he’d been sitting at his desk, and the thought of it wearied him… demands for answers from people who ought to know better; ought to have his back.

“Fuck it!” he snarled, and tossed his pen back onto the desk as he sat back, snatching off his glasses again having not written a word, and having been so engrossed in not doing so that he hadn’t heard the door open and close.

He didn’t hear the soft tread of footsteps, or the rattle of the tea things until he caught the shadow cross the corner of his desk, as the unfamiliar figure began to unload the tray, setting a cup beside his right hand, 

He looked up, and found himself suddenly captured by the most startling, bright blue eyes he had seen in a long time, set in an undeniably beautiful face, framed by a fall of chestnut hair that spilled over her shoulders in waves, to settle onto shoulders that were caressed by the white blouse, and black suit jacket.

He blinked then, bringing himself back from his sudden stupor, if the knot in his chest and the tangle in his belly could be  _ called  _ a stupor, and offered a commingled smile and frown both at the same time.

“Apologies, Prime Minister.” When she spoke her voice was honey, soothing the tired ache behind his eyes. “I hadn’t meant to disturb you.”

There was an accent to the voice. Commonwealth - Australian, not hard to identify, but it filled his distracted mind with questions, chief among them, why he hadn’t seen her before that evening.

“No, no,” he offered, giving himself another internal shake. “It’s a welcome interruption.”

He watched as she poured the steaming hot tea into the cup, and then turned the milk jug so that the handle was toward him, and did the same with the sugar spoon.

“Anything else, Sir?” she asked softly, as she stood back away from the side of the desk.

“Thank you, no,” he said quietly as he finished making his tea, and with a nod, she turned and started toward the door by which she’d entered. As the door opened with a mouselike squeak -  _ he’d have to get someone to see to that in the morning _ \- and he took a sip of his tea, he became more himself, and wondering where she’d come from - even who she was - he called out, “Actually, sorry I…” He got up from his desk, not realising until he was upright how much sitting was making his back ache. He walked toward the door, where she’d stopped and turned back to face him. “...I haven’t exactly been polite, have I?”

“I don’t think you’ve been  _ impolite _ , Sir,” she said.

“No, I have,” he argued softly. “I believe I’ve seen you around the last few days, but I haven’t even take the time to introduce myself.”

She chuckled softly at that, and he raised a querying eyebrow.

“Well, you’re hardly unknown, are you, Prime Minister.” she answered.

His turn to chuckle, softly, and holding out his hand, and shaking his head, as he said, “Robert Sutherland.”

She took his hand, and he felt a rush of something heated pass between them at her firm handshake. He swallowed, then nodded as she said, “Belle French.”

“Well, Miss French,” he said, releasing her hand, “I’m sorry not to have welcomed you before such a late hour. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

She chuckled again, and it sounded like the softest music to him, as tired as he was. Then she said, “Of course not, Prime Minister.”

“Robert,” he said softly, “If it’s just the two of us… titles seem a little… stuffy.”

“As you wish, Sir,” she said and he gave her a look, until she said hesitantly, “...Robert.”

“Can I ask?” he said, and when she nodded he continued, “Where’s Dennis, what happened with him? Not that I don’t think you’re more than competent but…”

“No, I understand,” she told him with a smile, “He was with you for a long time.” She paused then and said, “As far as I know, it was some kind of family emergency.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning in concern, Den had been a good steward and housekeeper for as long as he’d been PM, it seemed a little odd to him that no one told him anything, especially not Dennis himself. He sounded a little crestfallen even to himself, even as he said, “No one said.”

“I’m sure it was nothing personal, Sir,” she said. “I expect he just didn’t want to bother you with his own stuff, with so much going on around here.”

He gave her a tight smile, and it didn’t escape him that she hadn’t used his name. “I expect you’re right,” he said tiredly, then with a breath, nodded and turned back toward his desk, “Well, thank you for the tea, Miss French.”

He was almost to his seat, when her voice sounded from the doorway.

“May I make an observation, Prime Minister?” she asked.

“Go on,” he prompted as he lowered himself into his chair.

“After you’re done with your tea?” she said, making it sound like a question. “You should maybe get yourself off to bed. What was it you said the other day? People who are tired tend to make poor decisions?”

“Hmm,” he answered, picking up his cup, and watching as she gave him a nod, and then quietly slipped through the door and closed it behind her. It took him a few moments, but then he frowned. He’d been alone, then, with only his Chief of Staff, surely.  _ How the fuck…?! _

His brows drew down, and he sat back in his seat again, closing his eyes to try and remember more clearly. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Unbidden, a telephone conversation he’d had a few weeks prior drifted into his mind.

_ He closed his office door, and unusually, locked it after sending out the last of his visitors. Not so late, but a day that completely kicked his arse; took the piss, and he’d had it - completely fucking had it with being backtalked and pushed; the attempted manipulations. He’d expected resistance, and he had expected a settling in period with his cabinet, but the level of shit he’d had to put up with in the last few days…? He needed to know just who he was going to have to watch, and who he needed to bind in so much red tape they’d find it hard to breathe let alone cause trouble. _

_ He picked up the phone, and from memory dialled a number. It rang for several seconds before being answered. _

_ “Robert!” The voice was cheerful, but laced with more than a little sarcasm, “How’s life at Number 10?” _

_ “Oh, just fucking peachy,” he answered. He figured obfuscation was pointless at this juncture. _

_ “Hmm. I wondered how long it would be before I got this call,” _

_ “Don’t be such a smart arse, Neville,” he said acidly. “I wouldn’t be calling at all if I didn’t need--” _

_ “I know what you need, Rob,” Neville answered, “What  _ I _ need to know is how far you want to go. How deep?” _

_ “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” he growled the question, thinking the answer was obvious, given that he was making the call at all. “If I could sort this out on my own--” _

_ “Yes but…” Neville interrupted, “People you work with, or work for  _ you _ , friends,” there was a hint of hesitation before he added, “family?” _

_ “All of the above,” Robert snapped, feeling his heart sinking even as he spoke the words. _

_ Neville sounded surprised. “Really? Doubting loyalty, or fidelity? I’m shocked, Robert.” _

_ “Either,” he spat, “Both. I don’t fucking know. Things change. People change… pressures--” _

_ “Don’t excuse it,” Neville warned, “Own it. If there’s any doubt, then you need the truth. Someone in your position needs to know  _ exactly _ where, and with whom they’re safe.” _

_ “Trying to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Nev?” Robert sighed, suddenly tired. “Take it all the way. Go as deep as you need to, and take it as far as you must; as high.” _

_ “You won’t regret this, Robert,” Neville said, and his tone of assurance was clear. “I’ll send you my best operative.” _

_ “Who--” _

_ “Easier if you don’t know.” Neville interrupted. “You can’t influence things then, can’t play to the audience - tip anyone off.” _

_ “What the fuck makes you think I lack that level of control?” he snapped. _

_ “Trust me, Robert, it’s all unconscious,” Neville said. “My best, I promise you, and we’ll get you answers. What you do with those answers… that’s your call.” _

_ Neville hung up, and after Robert Sutherland closed his eyes, and whispered a silent - agnostic - prayer. _

“No fucking way!” he whispered, and putting his head back against the back of his chair, offered up the same, apostatic prayer


	2. Unconscious Truths

Belle decided she would give him an hour and if he hadn’t gone up to bed by then, she’d just come in early. Easy enough done. It was her job, after all, to make sure everything was spic and span, and ready for the Prime Minister’s day. There was plenty she could do to keep herself occupied during that hour; plenty of pieces of paper for her to peruse and analyse, to put together with what she already knew about the people close to and working for Sutherland.

All assuming she could get herself under control.

She had never before had an issue keeping her work and her feelings separate, but from the moment she’d walked in to Number 10, and laid eyes on Robert Sutherland, she  _ knew _ she was in trouble, and silently cursed Neville for not warning her about his ‘ _ old friend that needed a favor. _ ’

Sutherland wasn’t overly tall, but from the moment he entered a room he filled it. He had a quiet, commanding presence that exuded a tightly controlled menace, a dangerous side just waiting to be unleashed, given the right provocation. As if that wasn’t  _ enough _ to turn a girl into a quivering mess of hormones, then the way he carried himself, the unspoken promise that he was a man who  _ knew _ just the right way to bring a lover to the absolute peak of exquisite madness before letting them fall…

She had moaned at the thoughts that began cascading through her head, and without a doubt knew that it was time for her to head home, even though it wasn’t yet one. The PM was still up anyway, so it was probably best for her to get some rest, and come in fresh in the morning. It wasn’t a long journey to her home from home, and the night air was probably just what she needed. Perhaps she’d walk, work off the stray… feelings before they kept her up for yet another night.

* * *

_ It was a terribly stubborn stain, and no matter what she did - how hard she scrubbed, or how hot the water she used - it just  _ wouldn’t  _ come out. The air around her was softly focussed through the steam in the wash room, or like looking through frosted glass. _

_ The thought drew a frown to her face, and she looked around her, glass on three sides, misted with condensation, and on the fourth side, cool tiles, that she leaned her hands against, letting the gloriously hot water cascade down over her. _

_ Arms wrapped around her, and the heat of lips, competing with the heat of the water, pressed against the back of her neck, teeth nipped at her shoulders, and she leaned back into the firmly, muscled embrace, nuzzling backwards at the head that teased, lips at her pulse point. _

_ She moaned as a hand cupped her breast, fingers teasing at her nipple, and let out a soft cry as the other hand slipped lower and cupped her sex… parted her soft folds, teasing in her slick juices, before slipping inside her, knowingly… alternately teasing and thrusting; her whole body growing taught with pleasure. _

_ He turned her then, and she wrapped her arms around strong shoulders as he lifted her against the cool tiles. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he glided up inside of her, opening her, filling her… she opened her eyes as he drew away again, falling into the burnt-amber eyes of his face, lined with the tension of his own pleasure as he thrust inside again, and as close as she was… _

Belle woke with a sharp mewling cry, the rhythmic clamping of her inner walls, and the flood of tingling fire through the whole of her body drew another long, soft moan from her, as she threw an arm across her face, breathing hard. Her sweat slicked body was still trembling in the aftermath of her climax as she uncovered her face, and leaned up on her elbows, reaching to the nightstand, to pick up her phone and key the button to illuminate the screen and check the time.

3:33am.

She sighed, and fell back against the pillows, drawing the rumpled bed clothes up around her now that her body was cooling, trying hard not to think about the dream, or her lingering desire, but it was hard when the evidence of both was still slick against her thighs, and her swollen core.

* * *

It took him several long moments to realize that the irritating noise that was cutting through him with the intensity of a chainsaw was actually his alarm, and he rolled over, opening somewhat bleary eyes to stare at the bedside clock, willing it to focus, then when it did, willing it not to say six in the morning.

He reached over and silenced the alarm, and then lay on his back again for a moment, unsurprised to find the bed beside him empty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken with Rachel still beside him, let alone… anything else.

He sat up on the side of the bed, his feet resting on the thick carpet and ran a hand through his hair as he gathered himself together, still feeling tired and washed out. It had been close to two AM before he’d finally got to bed, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been before his mind settled enough for sleep to find him, and of course he had a full day to get through.

He promised himself an early night. The thought made him let out a huff of humorless laughter.  _ That will be the day. _ He threw back the covers from his lap before standing and padding naked to the bathroom, planning on a long hot shower that would hopefully wash away the cobwebs.

As he stepped into the shower and turned it to as hot as he could stand it, his mind, as he woke properly, began running through the events and revelations of the previous evening, especially being blindsided by the appearance of the beautiful new steward.

He paused suddenly, midway through soaping his belly, feeling himself beginning to react to the thought.  _ Where the  _ fuck _ did that come from? _ He took a deep breath, trying not to picture the deep blue of her eyes as she poured his tea, which of course only made him think all the more about his diminutive new staff member, about whom he also had other suspicions. Those, however, were not the thoughts that occupied his mind - and his body - at that moment.

He reached out and turned the dial on the shower all the way to cold and then hissed as tiny needles of frigid water cascaded down over his chest and belly, lower, instantly cooling his ardor and drawing a loud string of expletives from between his clenched teeth.


	3. Flowers

Less than an hour later, Sutherland made it into his office casting his eyes immediately over his in-tray, which seemed not to be as empty as he had left it the previous evening - if pushing midnight could still be called evening.

He frowned, and hitched his trousers slightly at the thigh as he lowered himself into his chair, unfastening his jacket button at the same time as he reached for his computer to turn it on. It was then he noticed the still steaming cup of tea on the coaster beside the basket of letters still needing his attention, but not only that, the fact that some of those he’d been working on the night before appeared to have been returned to him - and it wasn’t for his signature, he knew, because it was too early for his secretary to have arrived. Christ, even his Chief of Staff wasn’t in yet, so he knew that nothing had been done with his correspondence.

He picked up the cup and took a sip of the tea, for a minute forgetting that Dennis was no longer at Number Ten, but was on leave because of some kind of family emergency. Even so, the tea was made perfectly with just the right amount of sugar, and a splash of milk, just as he liked it. He made a mental note to talk with Anna about the whole question of the appointment of a new aide without his input. Not that he had any reason to doubt her competence, and as if to underline that, he took another sip of the near perfect cup of tea.

As he sipped, and waited for his computer to finish booting, he picked up one of the letters at random, saw the notes he’d left, hurriedly scrawled in his own hand exactly where he’d written them, but then, at the top of the page secured with a paper clip, was a small blue piece of paper on which was written in looping cursive, “ _I would advise that you deal with this one personally. Maybe a meeting?_ ”

He sat back in his chair, frowning softly as he looked at the original letter, which came from Eleanor James of MI5. It was a standard request, and one that he’d expected. His written response, via his secretary should have been enough. Why should he need to speak with James in person, and more pointedly, who was it that was tampering with his mail.

Continuing to sip his tea he flicked through the few other pieces of mail that had been returned. Some held advice, others information, all written in the same beautiful hand. He couldn’t help but look first at his cup and then at the door, wondering if his suspicions of the day before were founded, and trying to ignore the other thoughts he’d had in the shower that morning. It wouldn’t do to have a recurrence of them, especially not when she could come in at any moment.

* * *

The morning had been sufficiently dull that Sutherland decided to take a walk around the building before his eleven thirty meeting with Anna when she came to brief him on the rest of the day’s activities. There was relative peace, at least within those hallowed walls, but he wasn’t about to push his luck by putting his nose out of doors. There was still unrest in places as they put the country back together again. Northumberland, for example, although now mostly supportive of his plans going forwards, and the financial aid they’d been granted to rebuild their infrastructure, improve their hospitals, and, of course, meet and support whatever aid the university needed, there were pockets of resistance, and as always resistance was loud and obnoxious.

He was about to head through a doorway into the suite of offices on the opposite corridor to his own when he bumped - almost quite literally - into his new aide. She was carrying a large vase of mixed flowers, a beautiful arrangement, that he was in immediate danger of crushing. Only the quick reactions of the aide kept him from doing so, but in turning away from him, the water from the vase splashed up, and out of the glass funnel.

“I am _so_ sorry,” they both said together. Miss French going on to add, “Did I get you? There’s plant food in the water and I’m afraid it’ll stain your suit.”

Almost absently, he patted himself down.

“No, no,” he said, “I’m quite dry.” He looked up at her then, at the spreading pink stain that was seeping through her otherwise white blouse, increasing the transparency so that he could see the delicate pattern of lace nestled against her right breast. For a moment he wondered at the softness of that lace and what it might feel like beneath his fingers, warmed from the heat of her body. He felt himself start to stir, and clearing his throat, he suddenly looked up at her face, and whipped out the handkerchief from his top pocket, offering it to her as he said, “I’m rather afraid that _I_ got _you_ though.” He nodded briefly to her blouse before fixing his eyes on hers again. “I’m sorry.”

She shifted the vase to one arm, and glanced down at herself before taking the handkerchief from him and trying to blot up the worst of the stain, probably in vain, he thought. The blouse was probably ruined. He bit off the thought before he could allow it to go any further.

“Not to worry,” she told him, offering him a smile. “This is one of several. If I find a style I like, I usually buy duplicates.”

“Still,” he said, placing a careful hand onto her shoulder. “If you need to replace it, make sure you turn in the receipt to the finance office. It was my fault after all and I insist.”

“All right,” she answered. “Thank you, Prime Minister.”

He smiled a little stiffly and asked, “What did I tell you about that?”

She glanced around the two of them, and raised an eyebrow, before she said, “Well, we’re hardly alone, are we?”

More’s the pity! His rebellious mind answered.

With a breath, he nodded. “Quite right,” he said apologetically. “And I’m keeping you.”

She shook her head, and dabbed once more at the front of her blouse. He couldn’t help but follow the actions of her hand and his thoughts wandered back to images of her lace covered breasts, and the feelings she seemed to suddenly have awoken in him with her mere presence. He wondered what the hell had gotten into him. Sure, it wasn’t long since Rachel had left him, but the two of them had hardly been the most active of couples even _before_ she walked out on him, but this sudden, newly reawakened libido was rapidly looking as though it was going to get him into trouble.

“What would you like me to do with these?” she asked, and he fought to focus his mind. Certain that she was not asking him what he’d imagined her to be.

“Hmm?” he asked.

She frowned, and taking a step closer, tucked the handkerchief inside her blouse, behind the stain and then placed her now free hand onto his arm. He felt as though he’d been scalded.

“Are you all right, Robert?” she asked, keeping her voice low, confidential.

“What?” he asked, then, “No… um, yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a little distracted that’s all.”

She smiled then, and said, “I can tell.” She waited a moment before she began again. “So?”

“The flowers,” he guessed, “Yes, um…?”

“They’re for this evening’s dinner engagement,” she told him. “I was wondering whether you wanted them as a table centerpiece of if you’d prefer them on the mantle.”

“Actually, I’d prefer it if we could avoid them altogether, if I’m honest,” he told her. “Any way we can substitute a um…”

“Silk flower arrangement?” she prompted.

“Yes.” He nodded, and she nodded in return.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. “In the meantime, why don’t you let me run upstairs and get you a new handkerchief for your pocket.”

He gave her a grateful smile, and reached out to squeeze her hand in his. “I’ll go,” he said. “I could do with the exercise. Might help wake me up a bit.”


	4. Press Call

Prime Minister Sutherland watched as his Chief of Staff sat on the other side of his desk taking notes. He didn’t say anything just yet… only watched, but there _were_ some things he had on his mind, and he was damned if he was going to let her leave before he had satisfactory answers. Not that he was angry with her, just that he had… questions, and he didn’t like it.

She was dressed for the afternoon press conference; power dressing. It was form fitting, and v-necked but revealed little, cinched by a belt at her waist, and when she’d walked in he noticed her shoes were also black and shone as though recently polished; a medium heel so as not to overshadow him - not that he cared. It took more than physical height in excess of his own to make him look small. The only splash of color she wore was a blue silk scarf tied carefully around her neck, its ends tucked in on itself. He wondered.

“What?” she asked without looking up.

“Hmm?” he made a sound of query as he snapped back to his office, to the piece of paper he had in front of him of which he hadn’t read a word, and the realization that he had been staring.

“You’ve been looking at me like fucking judge, jury and executioner for the past ten minutes, Robert,” she said. “If you’ve got something to say,” she finally looked up at him, “come on, out with it.”

He sat back in his chair, tapping his pen on the papers on his desk before he set it down and then asked bluntly, “Why wasn’t I informed of the change in staffing?”

“Staffing?” she echoed.

“My aide,” he said. “I heard that Dennis took emergency family leave, and I clearly have a new aide, so,” he spread his arms, “why wasn’t I informed; consulted, even.”

“Christ, Robert,” Anna said, “If we informed you on every single staff change in Number 10, you’d have to employ someone to run the country.”

“I’m not talking about _every_ staff change, Anna. I’m talking about my aide. _My_ aide, who is in and out of this office, sees to my needs, picks up the domestic slack - don’t you think that’s _one_ staff change about which I _should_ be consulted?”

“Is there a problem?” Anna asked. “Don’t you like her work. I assure you, she was fully vetted.”

“It’s not _about_ security,” he said. “It’s about who might accidentally walk in on me with my freshly dry-cleaned suit when I’m—”

Anna laughed dryly. “Seriously?” she asked, “All of a sudden you’ve gone… shy and prudish?” He didn’t answer. Merely gave her a look that was twice as dry as her laughter had been. “It was my call, and she came highly recommended.”

“She’s very competent, actually,” he said.

“Well then,” Anna tipped her head to the side slightly, “just… make sure to tell her to knock.” She sighed. “Do you think we can get down to some _real_ business now.”

“The psychological comfort of the Prime Minister _is_ real business,” he said, not exactly serious in his complaint - he’d said his piece and he would move on, but he wanted to give Anna a hard time, so he made it sound as though he were, eliciting a ‘what-the…’ face from her before he went on, “but if you’re referring to this afternoon’s press conference ahead of the arrival of the European Minister for Public Health and Safety, I’d be happy to.”

“Oh, so you remembered then,” Anna remarked, sarcasm clear in her voice.

“Of course I remembered,” he quipped, “Not quite senile yet, despite what some in the cabinet might think.”

She gave him a tight smile, and asked, “What is it now?”

“What do we know about Eleanor James?” he asked. He made it sound off hand, absent, but he might have known that Anna wouldn’t fall for it in the slightest.

“Still on the war path, Robert?” she asked, frowning. Then she shook her head and said, “She’s solid.”

“Are you saying that because you know,” he asked, “Or because she had your back over the whole, Tosumbegovic… thing?”

“Well _thank_ you for that ringing endorsement,” Anna snapped. “It wasn’t a _thing_.

“Poor choice of words,” Sutherland answered, though without a hint of apology, “but you know what I mean.”

“I have no reason to doubt her,” she said, “either before or _after_ I went to her about Edin.”

Robert shrugged, and murmured, “Fair enough.” He wasn’t sure he was convinced.

“What brought this on?” she asked, but he shook his head.

“Maybe I really _am_ still on the war path,” he said. Then, sitting forward again, said, “So… press conference?”

Anna evidently recognized that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him on the subject, so she followed his change in subject.

“All right,” she began. “Well, we thought we might take advantage of the good weather, and hold it out front… Number 10 in the background, that kind of thing. It’ll be good for the public to see you ‘out of doors’ as it were.”

“Or are you trying to—” he broke off, as the irritating tickle in his nose suddenly became a full on irresistible urge, and he reached over, only just in time to grab a tissue from the box on the corner of his desk, before he sneezed violently. “Fuck!” he hissed.

“Trying to?” Anna prompted.

“Well I was going to say ‘rub the noses of the remaining dissenters in it.’” He answered, “but under the circumstance…” He shook his head, and leaving the sentence hanging, tossed the tissue into the trash, and then reached out to squirt some hand sanitizer into his palm, carefully applying it to the rest of his hands, before he got up, and went to close the cracked open window. “I’m really fucking starting to _hate_ this time of year,” he said as he returned to his seat.

Before Anna could answer, there was a soft knock at the door, which didn’t open until his invitation allowed it, and his new aide - though he supposed not new any more - came in carrying a tray.

“See,” Anna remarked, and he couldn’t tell whether she was teasing or not, “already well trained.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening slightly as he said, “So, you want to hold this press conference _outside_ , on a day like today.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “It will be good for morale.”

As they spoke, Miss French came to the side of his desk, and carefully unloaded the tray of its contents, being obviously careful not to set anything down on his papers as she brought him lunch. He glanced up at her, but she seemed to be concentrating so hard on her task that she didn’t meet his eyes; didn’t or _wouldn’t_ and he wasn’t sure which.

“Whose, exactly?” he snapped, looking back at Anna, until, from the corner of his eye, after Belle unloaded the last of the items from the tray, he saw her slip her hand into the pocket of her dress, and pull out a small packet, which she set beside his lunch. He turned his head to look over, and noted, not without a good deal of relief, that she had set a packet of antihistamine tablets onto his desk and said a quiet, “Thank you, Miss French.”

She gave him a barely there smile and a nod, before beginning to withdraw, and turning his attention back to Anna, he said brusquely, “At least _someone_ in this fucking building is paying attention.”

* * *

Belle French took her job very seriously. She always had, and believed that was what made the difference between a good operative, and _the best_ operative. After the incident with the vase of flowers the previous day, she’d made it her business to learn why the Prime Minister wanted to avoid having cut flowers at the formal dinner, and it wasn’t hard to guess, but guesswork wasn’t part of her her purview, and so she made a point of making sure, and after that, to do something about it.

Neville had told her to have the PM’s back, to find out just where loyalties lay in the way she had perfected in her few short years of service. To her, that went deeper than just snooping around in people’s offices for evidence as to whether they were for or against Sutherland. She’s been told to take it, ‘all the way,’ not just to people that made up his cabinet and members of his party, but _everyone_ : his estranged wife, his daughter… all of them, and she had her doubts about the wife… his daughter had been a puppet, a pawn. Beyond that, she had her doubts about Anna Marshall.

Not that she believed his Chief of Staff would ever betray him. As far as it went, Marshall was one hundred percent for Sutherland; loyal and on his side. She was, however, sometimes so self-involved that she was clueless and blind to the little things, no matter how sharp she was about the big picture. It was the little things she overlooked.

After delivering lunch, Belle went upstairs to begin the process of setting out the suits and other items of clothing that the PM would need on his upcoming trip, ready for his approval - and by approval, she’d learned, it meant that _he_ would pack them into the suitcase, or not, as the case might be - hanging the suits near their respective suit bags, and laying out the shirts, ties and other clothing on the top of his bed.

As she worked she let her mind back and forth over what she knew, like the shuttle on a weaving loom, slowly slotting the newly acquired pieces back into place and weaving the tapestry as it should be woven, the complete picture. She was so engrossed that she didn’t hear the door open behind her, or register the presence until his voice made her start and bring her back to the moment.

“Miss French,” he said quietly. “I hoped I might find you here.”

She turned slowly, composing herself from her slightly startled state, and the thought that, at the sound of his voice, her body had begun to hum with the memory of her dream, and the reality of standing alone with the man, in his bedroom… and the words he’d spoken.

“Prime Minister?” she queried, then at his expectant expression, added, “Did you need something?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d mind coming with us when we go north,” he said, and she could tell by the lingering expression that asking directly if he needed something was not what he had been waiting for.

“Is that usual?” she asked.

Sutherland shrugged. “I don’t know that there _is_ a precedent for these things,” he said, “It’s… entirely up to you, of course, but… I would appreciate knowing that there’s someone around that I can count on to bring me a decent cup of tea when I’m up too late at night.”

She raised an eyebrow, suspecting he was teasing, and answered, “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to pack the Yorkshire.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that went right through her, and sent the lingering hum in her belly into a tingling overdrive.

“Yorkshire it is then,” he said. “I um… I have to run, damned press conference, otherwise I’d stay and give you a hand.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Almost done, anyway,” she added, indicating the few small piles on the bedspread.

He nodded once, and then turned as though he were about to leave, but instead stopped and said, “One more thing.”

“Robert?” she asked, forgetting herself and the attempt she’d made to maintain formality as a defense against her quickly growing, inappropriate desires for the man in front of her.

He turned back to her with a warm smile on his face, and a sharp, almost wicked twinkle in his eyes, and asked, “Could you make sure we pack the pinstripe?”


	5. Road Trip

The Prime Minister’s car traveled at speed - though keeping to the speed limits - along the motorways and then the A1, far different to the last time he’d taken that journey. Now, approaching the final destination for the day, having stopped several times along the way to ‘put in an appearance’ as Anna had called the overly packed schedule she’d created that had turned five and some hours into a journey of almost twelve, he sat back against the leather seat, abandoned his phone to his pocket, and let his eyes close.

He tried not to let his mind run over and over the agenda for the following day, nor the speeches he’d be called on to make, rather he tried to let the tiredness he felt wash over him; banish it all. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to think about the reopening of the University. He was happy for it after the troubles they’d had. He was also happy for the partnership the school of bio-medicine was making with the Vrije University, in Brussels, which would allow graduate students to go on to pursue Masters degrees in the highly sought after Biomedical Engineering field abroad. It was a very positive move. The timing, however, and the atmosphere after recent events and the relationship with EU member states… 

He sighed.

“What is it, Robert?” He opened his eyes again at Anna’s query.

“Just tired,” he lied, not really wanting to get into it with _her_ either. All he wanted was to eat a hot meal, take an even hotter shower, and crawl into bed and sleep. “It’s been a long day.”

“We’ll soon be at the hotel, I imagine,” she answered. “Then I’d like to go over—”

“No,” he said, his voice almost a gunshot against the quiet hum of the vehicle’s interior.

“Oh, come on, it’ll take ten minutes,” she argued in a tone that was a mixture of cajoling and teasing. “Fifteen at most.”

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to go over it in the morning,” he snarked in such a way as to be final and unequivocal. There was silence for a moment before he added, “Oh, and I want two key-cards for my suite.”

“I normally get you two anyway,” she said, “So that I can—”

“Yes, and I want both of them,” he snapped, then tried to soften his irritable tone with a quiet, “Please.”

He could feel her looking at him, but refused to turn his head. Let her stew for a while. It would do her good. Much as he liked her, and valued every facet of their relationship, of late he’d felt her becoming a little overly familiar in discharging her duties. Though he enjoyed the fact that she generally knew what he would do or say in any given situation and get the ball rolling in ways that saved a lot of time, he had begun to worry that she did it _too_ much, and that he was losing his grip on the ball too often, and right now he couldn’t allow that. _Besides_ , he thought in an attempt to justify his guilt at feeling the way he did, _she has a lot going on in her own life right now, she shouldn’t have to worry about so much._

“Fine,” she said after a moment. Then added with no small amount of sarcasm, “Is there anything else you’d like to change about our usual arrangements?”

“No,” he said in a matching tone, “Not that I can think of, but if anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know.”

He closed his eyes again then and put his head back against the seat. The quiet lasted all of five minutes, if that, before Anna said, “Look, Robert, are you pissed off at me for something?”

“No,” he answered without moving or opening his eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“You honestly have to ask that?” she queried, and he _did_ turn his head and open his eyes to look at her then.

“Yes,” he answered, confused.

She offered him a level look for a long time, so he nodded again in case she’d suddenly lost the capacity to understand English, and her continued obtuseness _was_ starting to piss him off.

“Okay, well,” she began finally, “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me in the last two hundred miles or so, you’re snapping at me about our usual travel arrangements, and you won’t even give me ten minutes to go over tomorrow’s agenda.”

“I told you, it’s been a long day and I’m tired,” he said levelly. “How did you manage to turn my simple statement of fact into that litany of grievances?”

“Because I _know_ you,” she answered, almost without missing a beat. “You might well be tired, and you’re definitely cranky,” she added as an attempt at humor, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“Maybe I’m just… feeling my age,” he offered sourly, and once more closed his eyes and rested his head against the leather headrest.

* * *

Traveling with the press and minor members of the Prime Minister’s entourage afforded Belle the opportunity to do a little ‘people watching.’ She didn’t bother with the press too much, she already had a pretty good idea who would give him favorable press, and which among them would give him neutral or even bad press.

She was interested in the new press secretary though, and watched him as he moved every so often seat to seat among those very members of the press she had categorized one way or another. She couldn’t make up her mind whether he was even a little bit effective, but she’d heard the tales of the previous incumbent - part of why she’d been brought in in the first place - and ineffective was better than downright destructive. Robert Sutherland had dodged a bullet by a narrow margin after _that_ shit-storm.

The security detail too - those not traveling with the PM in his car, or in the car following - were another of her priorities. One or two of them were a little green around the gills, and would need to shape up pretty fast if they were to keep their positions, but on the whole, physical security wasn’t too bad.

Since the last stop on the publicity trail, though, she’d allowed herself to close her eyes, and try and get some rest. It wasn’t easy, with all the chatter going on around her, but at least she could rest her eyes… and given the nature of some of her dreams, of late, it was _probably_ better if she _didn’t_ fall asleep, but soon, the rocking of the bus, and the rhythmic hum of the engine lulled her into a light doze… and then a deeper sleep.

 _“I don’t_ care _what he said, Belle,” Her father started pacing back and forth as if the march across the lounge and back again while he had made her sit on the couch and listen to his ridiculous lecture would in any way change her mind. “What he’s proposing is entirely inappropriate for a young lady of your… your…”_

 _He faltered and she had him, already burning with anger. “My_ what _exactly?” she demanded, “I suppose you think it appropriate to be_ parading _me around in front of all of your business cronies, hoping one of them will snap me up and save you the trouble of worrying about me any more, so long as your reputation remains intact!”_

_“Don’t you speak to me like that, my girl,” her father growled._

_“Or you’ll what?” she mocked, “Hit me…? like you used to mother?”_

_“How_ dare _you!” he roared. “I only want what’s best for you, and_ this _is how you repay me? With lies and accusations?”_

 _“Spare me,” she spat, getting to her feet, refusing to be cowed any more, determined to take charge of her life. “All you’re concerned about is losing control of mother’s wealth, which is_ exactly _what you’re going to do if you try to push me into a loveless arrangement with one of your obsequious lackeys. My future is my own, and I’ll be the one to decide it,_ not _you!”_

_He started toward her, but she slipped around him and began to head toward the door._

_“You walk out of that door, my girl, and I swear—”_

Belle started as a hand closed over her shoulder, and shook her gently, barely managing to control the impulse to lash out at the last moment as her eyes flew open.

“Hey… hey…” she found herself looking into the concerned face of one of the women on the bus, a journalist - one on the pro side so far as her sleep muddled mind could remember - the woman let go of her shoulder and sat down in the seat next to her. “Looked like you were dreaming, and not a good one, if you catch my drift, so I thought it best to wake you. Besides, we’ll be there soon, I expect.”

“Thanks,” Belle answered, though she didn’t offer anything more. A journalist was a journalist after all. She turned her head to look out of the window at the suburbs that were rapidly becoming city streets.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” the woman was trying to sound casual, but Belle could tell that she was fishing. “I’m Kirsty.”

“Hi,” Belle said. No matter her suspicions, there was no need for her to be rude. “And thanks for waking me.”

“No Problem,” Kirsty said, then, “And you are…?”

“Obviously a whole lot more tired than I thought,” Belle answered. “I guess it’s been a long day.”


	6. A Face In the Crowd

If he’d hoped for a quiet reception, to be able to slip in unobserved and take the rest of the day to relax; prepare himself for the next day’s performance of pomp and circumstance, he was sorely disappointed. There was already a crowd around the hotel entrance, kept back by metal barriers held in place by the combined effort of sand bags and the Northumbria Police. As he might have expected, the gathered mass were clearly divided into two factions: those of his supporters, and those who looked like they wouldn’t be satisfied until they had blood - preferably his.

They seemed to have conveniently arranged themselves into two opposing positions, opposite each other, already hurling insults, but thankfully nothing else, at each other as the cars slowed in preparation for his disembarkation.

“Just like parliament,” he observed dryly.

“What?” Anna asked, frowned in confusion until he gestured out of the window at the the awaiting welcome. “Oh, right,” she said, apparently unimpressed. She seemed to make a decision then, and raised the walkie to instruct the driver of the lead vehicle, “Around the block, Aaron.”

Even as he tried to protest, the agent answered, _“Yes, Ma’am.,”_ his voice tinny as it came from the little speaker.

Anna turned an apologetic look Sutherland’s way and reached out to give his forearm a little squeeze, their earlier argument apparently forgotten, or at least forgiven.

“Just to give our people time to get in place,” she assured him.

He nodded, with a sigh, and said a soft, “Fine,” before sitting back again, settling still further back against the seat as the slight acceleration took hold.

“What do you think that was all in aid of?” she asked, turning her head as they passed, as if she too was trying to catch sight of any signs, or other clues, as to the purpose of the mob. Sutherland gave a pout of his lips and a slight shake of his head.

“Who knows?” he asked, “Probably protesting the price of fish at market and placing the blame on me for all I know.”

“Oh, Come on Robert,” she said. “I know you’re tired but…”

“But what?” he asked in a monotone. He didn’t even have the energy to snark at her. “They want the university to reopen, they don’t want the university to reopen, they don’t want the partnership? Or seriously, the price of fish…”

Anna sighed. “What do _you_ want, Robert?” she asked.

“A hot meal, a hotter shower, a warm bed…”

“For the university.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Anna. The country needs to recover from what happened, and this is one of the last things left. I fought parliament to get it done now, because I thought it would help to create stimulus in the area. I fought the opposition to create ties with Brussels, in spite of Brexit, because I thought they should have something to further increase their importance to the country. I didn’t necessarily _want_ all of that, not yet anyway. I think it’s still too soon, and most people still blame me for what happened there, but the city bitched about me not doing enough for them and so…” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Anna shook her head. “I know what you did, not how you _feel_ about it.”

“Maybe I think they’re right,” he murmured.

“Fuck _that_ , Robert!” she all but shouted at him, “You handled _everything_ the best you could - the best _anyone_ could.”

“That's the problem,” he said, fixing her with a uncompromising stare. “It wasn’t enough.”

* * *

The bus had to take and alternate route to the hotel, and ironically it turned out to be the faster way than the Prime Minister’s secure transportation route. As such, it afforded Belle time to alight, and head through the hotel - the bus having pulled up out back - with the rest of the security detail who were the ‘advance guard.’

She could hear the crowd of people even before she got all the way through the lobby. Some were hurling insults at the others, or else at Sutherland in absentia. It seemed the people of Northumbria held grudges and still blamed the PM for everything that had happened. It was ugly, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She was more than a little relieved to see the three black vehicles, that had slowed as if to stop, pick up speed again. She wanted to get outside and take in the lie of the land _beyond_ the demonstration at the hotel’s front doors.

Retracing her steps, she slipped out of the back door and came around the building and began walking along as though she were a simple pedestrian going about her business. She was certainly going about her business, though it wasn’t simple. She tried to take in the faces of every protester at the barricades - some recognizable feature that would allow her to be on better guard. Through experience she knew better than to focus merely on those who were _anti_ -Sutherland, spending a good deal of time as she walked taking in the faces of those on his supporters side as well.

Her eyes were drawn to the middle of the pack where one man stood, too still; too quiet. It sent a chill through her, warning bells that clamored for her attention. She took him in, making a mental note of his features. Later, when she had her computer open, she’d run everything she could through the organization’s database, just to see if she would get a hit, or reassure herself that she was being paranoid.

Out of time, she saw the Prime Minister’s entourage coming around again, this time the cars slowed and stopped. The security detail came immediately to the middle car, ready to escort Sutherland inside. She increased her pace to put herself among them, shaking her head when one of them protested.

“You should be inside, Ma’am,” he said.

“And that’s precisely where I’m going,” she answered with a smile. “Just as soon as the Prime Minister does.” She watched him draw breath ready to protest, and continued, “What kind of a steward would I be if I weren’t there to see to his needs?”

He shook his head and sighed. “It’s your head,” he told her.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.

There was no more time for argument, as Sutherland slipped from the car, and turned to reach inside and help Marshall out. If the crowd had been loud before, as they sighted their prey, the noise became almost deafening. As she suspected, the security officers from both of the cars came to flank the Prime Minister, but not before he had seen her, and offered her a bright smile.

She felt herself caught by the arm and pulled closer, right into his side, and as they began to move toward the hotel doors he leaned closer still.

“You didn’t have to come out here.” His breath was hot against her neck, behind her ear as he spoke the words into the sensitive shell of it. She fought not to shiver, but her body had a mind of its own, and she felt every part of her respond to it - to _him_. “I’m glad you did,” he went on, and she turned her head up to him with a curious frown on her face. “Wanted to make sure you had a key.”

She couldn’t hear the words, but she could see them, the shape of his lips as he made them, the way his tongue darted out after he finished, to lift a bead of moisture back into his mouth. She shivered again, her mind rapidly going south, and berated herself for it.

The noise of the protesters became muted as the doors closed behind them, insulating the lobby from the worst of it. Sutherland released Belle’s arm, and the security detail gave them more space, the small party coming to a halt as the hotel manager came out from behind the service desk to greet his esteemed guest.

“Welcome to the Hotel deWint,” he said, offering a hand which Sutherland took and shook warmly.

“A pleasure, thank you,” he said, then added, “I apologize for the disturbance outside.”

“Hardly your fault, Prime Minister,” the manager said, finally taking back his hand. “I think you’ll find your rooms are all in order, and if I, or any of my staff, can provide you with anything, just let us know.”

“I will, thank you.” Sutherland assured him. “Right now, I’d just like to get settled. It’s… been a long day.”

“Of course.” The manager nodded, and signaled to one of his staff members, who came forward with several small envelopes containing room keys. Most of them she gave to Marshall, but the envelope marked for the Prime Minister, she gave directly to Sutherland, who nodded his thanks.

“Excuse me,” he added for good measure. “Miss Marshall will take care of the remaining details.”

Belle watched as Marshall spluttered a little, but soon composed herself, and began organizing room keys and the transportation of baggage up to the appropriate places whilst, at his behest, Belle followed the Prime Minister to the elevators.


End file.
